


Enemy of My Enemy

by dendraica



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Captured by an Enemy, Enemies to Lovers, Episode Ends Differently AU, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23769724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendraica/pseuds/dendraica
Summary: AU of “Edge of Disaster”, in which Hiccup, Snotlout, and Fishlegs do not make it back to the Edge before Ryker launches his final attack. After Tuff is taken captive, Heather must quickly find a reason to keep him alive, despite no lenses or dragon eye being found. In this, she finds some surprising help in her brother, who seems to be questioning his own place in their alliance with Viggo. Meanwhile, Astrid and Ruff form a deep friendship which promises to become something more as they take off on their own to save Tuffnut.
Relationships: Astrid Hofferson/ Ruffnut Thorston, Dagur & Heather, Dagur the Deranged/Tuffnut Thorston, Ruffnut Thorston & Tuffnut Thorston
Comments: 13
Kudos: 39
Collections: HTTYD RarePair Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

The battle had come down to this: two teenaged Berkians, two dragons, one chicken and a flock of leaderless winded Night Terrors with an unconscious leader versus a fleet of dragon hunters who had Ryker Grimborn to face if they sounded the retreat. The dragon riders had given it their all, but limits had been reached. 

Tuff and Astrid were exhausted and down to their last line of defense - they needed help and fast. 

When daylight shone on the Edge, slowly illuminating the rocky cliff side, no help flew to their side.

At the base of the cliff, twin swords came down without mercy or restraint, only to crash against bare dirt as the dragon rider rolled out of harm’s way. 

Tuff was disoriented and aching from his earlier failed body slam, but instinct kept him moving beyond the pain. Ryker was out for blood and losing was not an option; not when his sister needed him. He couldn’t let Ruff down.

He scrambled back onto his feet, launching himself nimbly away from Ryker’s furious slices. As he moved, his eyes scanned frantically for a weapon - any weapon - that he could use to defend himself with.

There was a stick that wouldn’t last two minutes as kindling, sand, dirt, and one small wilted pile of seaweed. So far, the options weren’t great. What Tuff wouldn’t give for just a decent size rock right about now . . .

Ryker lunged at him and he all but somersaulted out of range, feeling more than just wind this time as the man’s swords sought to rend his flesh. One of the tips slashed across his back, slicing through cloth and sheepskin, cutting the flesh beneath and throwing off Tuff’s footing just enough to send him crashing down to earth yet again.

Tuff hit the ground and dug his fingers into the loose sand and rolled onto his stinging back, flinging a handful at Ryker’s face. The man roared in rage, but wasted no time swiping at his eyes like Tuff hoped he would, instead pinning him to the beach with a heavy boot on his chest. 

He swore and grabbed at his ankle, digging in his nails to try and to push it off, but Ryker was made of solid rock or something. Maybe he was part troll? Grimborn sounded like it could be a troll’s name -

The sword piercing deep into the meat of Tuff’s shoulder took all his thought and breath away. He felt a horrible numbness at first, but then a pain that felt wrong, and cold, and burning hot all at once. Tuff couldn’t help the scream that ripped from his throat.

“Ryker!” someone else screamed furiously. At first his heart leapt in relief, hoping it might be Astrid. 

No, not her voice - too different and too angry; Astrid didn’t have that much deeply impacted rage bottled up inside of her. 

Ryker sneered and pushed down on the sword, sending Tuff’s panicking mind back to focusing on how ridiculously sharp this man kept his weapons; honestly the blade was sliding through flesh and muscle as though it were all made of butter. He had the abrupt horrific fear that the man intended to impale him into the sand.

Tuff knew he was making some kind of involuntary drawn out noise, but Heather was drowning it out with her furious shouting, something about how Viggo had said he couldn’t kill him or the other dragon riders. 

It wasn’t that Tuff didn’t appreciate the effort, he just still wished it had been Astrid to his rescue. The stabbing would have probably stopped by now. 

Speaking of, Heather’s hand seized the sword hilt, trying to - 

_Oh no - oh please, no -_

Tuff arched, unable to hold back a wail as the struggle between the two caused the serrated blade to twist in his shoulder. White hot pain filled his vision, strangling voice and thought.

_ Astrid, he needed Astrid right now, where was Astrid, was she okay, he needed her help,  please ... _

Raggedly, he tried to call her name, and Ryker looked down at him, scowling. “Even if he has seen the images from the Dragon Eye - why would I trust him to tell me the truth?”

What? Had he missed something? Tuff tried to focus beyond the agony, but it was difficult; their exchange of words kept slipping in and out of focus. He reached up to try and grip the blade, desperate to stop it going in any further.

“He can draw what he’s seen!” Heather was insisting. “The Twins have valuable memory and cartography skills - there’s no sign of the Dragon Eye on this island, so why not take him instead? He can draw a map of what he remembers from the lenses - and he _might_ even draw it very  well , provided you  _take your fucking sword out of his shoulder!_ _”_ Heather snarled, having at least let go of the hilt. 

Ryker sneered at her, but yanked the blade free, wrenching another broken wail from Tuff’s lips. As much as he’d hated being stabbed in the first place, the serrated blade pulling out of his flesh was its own special hell. 

Heather knelt down, yanking the material of his clothing out and away from the ragged wound and pressing down with both palms to stop the bleeding. 

The pressure helped with the pain, oddly, enough for Tuff to focus past his tears and grip her wrist, smearing blood on it. Judging from Heather’s wince it was probably too hard, but his own agony was impairing his judgement. 

“Wh-Where is my sister?” The blond rider sobbed. 

“Back on the boat, annoying everyone,” Ryker answered before Heather could. She frowned sharply, but Tuff felt nothing but relief. 

If they knew Ruff was annoying, it meant they had been keeping her  _alive_ .

Heather checked to see if the wound had stopped bleeding but Ryker motioned her away from him with the flat of his blood-stained sword. “Go see if _your_ worthless brother has found anything. I’ll take this one back to the ship. You have a point -he may have some information that could prove useful to Viggo. He should very well hope he does.”

Heather backed away, giving Tuff a warning look, before leaving them to go find Dagur. 

Tuffnut choked back a whimper of pain and tried to sit up as Ryker loomed over him, blotting out the sunrise. The man reached down, grabbing the front of his vest and lifted him roughly to his feet, and  oh gods  did he try not to yell. Ryker transferred his harsh grip to Tuffnut’s uninjured bicep and started toward the boats, dragging him along when he faltered.

“Keep moving, boy,” the man ordered flatly.

Blood was stiffening his clothing and he kept his hand pressed over his shoulder, trying to copy what Heather had done. It had seemed to help, but he was too weak now to recreate the same amount of pressure. The wound had not yet clotted, and he felt lightheaded and sick to his stomach.He wanted to cry, but refused to let himself out of sheer principles. 

At least wherever he was being taken he’d be with Ruffnut. The thought of seeing his sister alive and hearing her scathing review of dragon-hunter holding cells calmed him significantly. 

He looked back toward the cliffs and shore, hoping Astrid was faring much better than he was.

——-

A punch sent Dagur down, and Astrid couldn’t deny the pleasure it gave her to watch the Berserker’s eyes roll up into his head as he crumpled to the earth. Maybe her friends were right about how long she held grudges, but considering he’d almost _blown up her house with her parents inside_ , it didn’t seem unreasonable.

She shifted her hands for a better grip on her axe and spun to face the new attacker she’d heard approaching from behind. 

Heather . . . 

The girls raised their weapons, and began to circle each other, as the fallen Berserker moaned, face-down in the sand. “Run from me,” Heather hissed, and Astrid saw why - other Dragon Hunters on the shore had noticed their impending fight. Weapons drawn, a few were starting to stalk over, in case Heather need backup.

Astrid bolted and Heather chased her until they were out of sight behind a maze of sheltering sea rocks. 

“Astrid! Ruff got away, but Tuff has been injured and he’s with Ryker,” Heather informed her, wasting no time. Astrid didn’t register the words at first, but her heart started to pound. 

“I have to go get him! Is he on the ship yet?”

“No! Astrid, listen, I managed to talk Ryker into keeping him alive, but I don’t know if I can manage to save you both. The man is a shark and he wants blood. If you get captured, he might kill you or Tuffnut to sate it. When are Hiccup and the others coming back? Were you able to get a Terror message to them?”

“I sent one out, but I don’t know if it’s reached Berk,” Astrid muttered, mind racing. Tuff was injured, her brain kept screaming and as much as it angered her, it also made her feel weak and scared and helpless. She hated it. “Hiccup and the others aren’t back yet - did Ryker lay a trap for them?”

Heather sighed. “I couldn’t get the details. You should get on Stormfly and go, I’ll tell Ryker I can’t find you and hopefully you can find Hiccup and the others.”

_Astrid, take Stormfly and go. I’ll hold them off._

The words haunted her now and she shook her head, teeth clenched. “No, I can’t - I won’t just  leave Tuffnut -“

“You _have_ to , Astrid. I _cannot_ keep the both of you alive this time - I barely managed to keep Ryker from killing Tuff on the beach. Ruff took Windshear and flew east, so she’s out of harm’s way, as far as I know. She’s probably trying to find Hiccup herself.”

Astrid’s heart was pounding too fast and she felt sick to her stomach. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She never should have left Tuff’s side, she should have been right there to protect him. “How - how badly is Tuffnut injured?”

“A shoulder wound. He’ll live, so long as Ryker believes he’s useful to Viggo. I’ll be there to help him - but for both of your sakes,  you need to leave with the Dragon Eye.  Now .”

Heather’s words were punctuated by distant yells and running footsteps of the Dragon Hunters - not distant enough for comfort as their torches grew brighter among the rocks.

Astrid cursed and gave Heather a desperate look. 

“Go! I will protect him as best as I can until you can all regroup,” the dark haired girl vowed. Heather turn to bellow to the hunters. “Turn west - through those trees! I see her!” The running footsteps changed course and she ran out to further misguide them.

Had it been anyone else on Midgard making that promise, Astrid would have stubbornly stayed where she was to fight every last man. Getting killed or captured wasn’t going to help Tuff though. It was up to her now - _she_ had to go find Hiccup and tell him what had happened to Tuff so they could rescue him.

Heartsick, she turned to run, whistling for Stormfly. The Nadder swooped down to grab her and she climbed up to her saddle as arrows whizzed past, just barely missing her.

The Dragon-Eye was still in the hut, stashed in a barrel from when Tuff had last dug it up. He’d found it so easily and she’d been annoyed at him for it - though mostly at herself. Of course the Hunters would have found it if he hadn’t first; the ground was too frozen to dig a deep enough hole.

A frantic clucking sound behind her made her turn to see that Chicken had made her way back from the shore. She was panting, poor thing.

Astrid picked up Chicken and held her close to her chest, the little hen calming down and peeping quietly, as if she knew the danger her human friend was in. She burbled and fluffed her feathers, and Astrid stroked her combs, feeling wretchedly responsible for far too much.

Every part of her wanted fly to the ship and just grab Tuff, but if she got captured then what? Heather was right - they might kill him and take her alive instead. She had to think and plan this carefully instead of rushing in.

Barf and Belch had joined her on the deck of the Twins’ hut, Belch all but flattening Chicken as he thrust his head under Astrid’s chin and moaned worriedly. She stroked his frills, swallowing back tears that felt useless and selfish. “I’m so sorry, guys. We need to find the others so we can go save Tuff. I need you both to track Ruffnut for me.” 

Barf chirped and Belch gave an answering burble, both heads turning to look at each other in agreement. They launched, taking off toward the East. Astrid heard shouts and so did Stormfly - the Hunters were advancing on the Clubhouse now. She pulled herself up into the saddle with Chicken under her arm, taking off quickly to avoid another volley of arrows. 


	2. Chapter 2

Tuff’s shoulder and arm were numb by the time the longboat reached the main ship. His back had joined in on the fun too, stinging and throbbing in turns - or sometimes both at once. At least he was bleeding slower.

It seemed to take forever to get to the ship at first, but a second later he yelped as the longboat hitting the side of the galleon jolted him. Wait, hadn’t they just gotten into it? His head hurt when he tried to figure it out, so he closed his eyes and tried to stop thinking.

As soon as the rope ladder was unfurled down to them, Ryker gripped the back of his neck and hauled him to his feet, before easily picking him up to toss him over his shoulder. Tuff grunted as the man’s studded pauldrons pressed into his stomach. 

“Wow, great carryout service. Will you be coming back for my luggage too?” 

“Shut up,” Ryker growled. 

The man gripped the rope and started to haul them both up easily - as easily as he’d scaled the side of the cliff earlier. Tuff had to admit it, he was impressed. Grudgingly impressed.

Once they were on deck however, he literally shrugged Tuff off, letting him fall to a heap on the boards. 

Tuffnut swallowed his pain and focused on locating his sister. He lifted his head to look around, but there was no sign of Ruff anywhere. His heart started racing anxiously. 

“Here’s one of them. We’re to keep this one alive,” Ryker was informing a group of Hunters. He looked down at Tuffnut as though the boy was a disgusting insect, or worse. “Supposedly he has information about the Dragon Eye that could be useful.”

There was a genuine groan of disappointment at these words, and Tuff saw that many of the men sported injuries of some kind - splints, bandages, here and there an eyepatch. 

“Cauterize his wounds and wash off all that blood,” he heard Ryker ordered. Two of the Hunters started toward him, eyes cold and emotionless through the slats in their helmets. 

“Where’s Ruffnut?” Tuff demanded, but one of them grabbed his hair and gave it a sharp yank in an attempt to quiet him. 

It didn’t work, obviously. 

“Hey! Back off - only my sister gets to pull these locks. You don’t look like her. Not hirsute enough,” he snapped at the one who had grabbed him.

The man blinked and then he and his companion laughed, as did a few other men. It wasn’t exactly friendly laughter.

“I’d watch that careless fool’s tongue of yours, dragon rider. You and your sister are very alike - neither of you knows when to shut up,” Ryker smirked.

“Where is she?” Tuff snarled, in his most intimidating voice, which was sadly not as intimidating as he’d have liked it to sound in that moment.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Ryker sneered, and headed to his cabin. 

“If you’ve hurt her -“ Tuff started, trying to get up. A hunter kicked him in the mouth, cutting him off. He collapsed to the deck on his stomach, automatically using his good arm to try and shield his head from further blows. More laughter and Ryker paused, just long enough to issue a warning to the men. 

“Don’t kill him,” he reminded, sounding both amused and unconcerned. Then he shut his door, leaving Tuff alone and outnumbered.

A few more hunters wandered over, as the one who had kicked him moved to tower above him.

“Get up!” the man snarled. 

Tuffnut said nothing, angrily sucking the blood from his lip and remaining curled up defensively. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fight, it was just the world was spinning awful fast from that kick to the face and blood loss and general exhaustion, and he needed a moment to catch his breath.

No such luck. The man reached down and grabbed the collar of Tuff’s tunic, hauling him to his feet, only to deliver another blow, this time a punch in the stomach. Tuffnut grunted, tears involuntarily springing to his eyes from the force of the man’s fist. He would have fallen to his knees again had the hunter let him. 

There was a collective cheer, more men gathering around to watch the ‘fight.’

Was this really what they were going to do? Just beat him up, while he was already injured and after the battle was over? Huh. Said an awful lot about a man’s character.

Tuff still couldn’t manage to keep the world still, so instead he went suddenly deadweight. Using the man’s hold on him for balance and momentum, he delivered a heavy kick to the man’s kneecap. There was a satisfying ‘pop’ and the hunter yowled and clutched at his injury, freeing Tuff. 

Never one to leave things half-done, he threw a two-fingered jab at the man’s unprotected eyes through the slit in his helmet and scuttled back out of his reach. As the man howled and backed off to wipe at his streaming eyes, the rest of the men advanced. 

Well, at least they were no longer laughing.

His back to the mast, Tuffnut braced himself as the men closed in. He knew he couldn’t fight them off and hope to win, but maybe he could fight just long enough to stall, until Astrid or Hiccup or somebody came to the rescue - to save him and Ruffnut. 

Somebody was _absolutely_ coming for them. At some point. 

Tuff went on believing that, until the very last blow turned his world dark.

——

Dagur honestly couldn’t wait until death claimed him.

It would be heralded by a Valkyrie, surely, and she’d tell him how brave and honorable he’d been and she’d .... in no way be scowling down at him as he slowly came to his senses from the rages of the battlefield.

“You aren’t even injured, get up,” Heather grumbled, giving him a light kick. 

“Ow,” he complained weakly, belatedly after getting his bearings. “You don’t know that. My skull feels like a Gronckle’s been chewing on it.”

Had a Gronckle been chewing on it? Possibly - this place was insane. There were statues full of explosive gas, rabid Night Terrors swooping down on people. He could have sworn he saw a . . . a _chicken_ viciously chasing somene along the beach earlier. 

Dagur winced and sat up as slowly as he could. Who knew that Astrid girl had such a dangerous right hook? His head was splitting. He moaned, touching his swollen upper lip and bruised jaw.

“We’ll get you some ice when we get back to the ship. I don’t suppose you saw whether she had the Dragon Eye on her while you were fighting?”

“No, she — wait, did Astrid get away  again ? From  _you_ ?”

Heather growled. While not the actual menacing growl that Ryker could produce, hers was nonetheless one Dagur had learned by painful experience to  never refer to as ‘cute’. Even if she  was his little sister.

“Yes, Dagur, she got away.”

“Even though you have a double bladed axe.”

“ _She_ has an axe too! Plus years of combat training!” Heather defended, clearly touchy about this subject.

“But it’s not a double-bladed axe. _And_ you’ve got a dragon that can slice through anything. Oh, wait - actually, I forgot. That annoying girl twin stole your dragon. After head-butting you into the sand. Wow, it has _not_ been a very good day for you, sister.”

For a moment, Heather looked about ready to punch him, but then she sighed and her expression crashed into one of stress and barely contained mental screaming.

Oh no, he’d messed up hadn’t he? Dagur hastened to comfort her.

“Well, it’s no big deal - I mean, everyone has off days! Don’t worry about it. Windshear’s probably gone to dunk Girlnut in the nearest body of water and she’ll be back before you know it. And if not, Razorwhips can track, right?”

“I know she’ll find me,” Heather said curtly, waving off his concern. She composed herself and gestured back toward the ship. “Come on, let’s grab a boat before they’re all taken. Unless you prefer to swim back.”

Dagur had no objection to that plan. Savage rowed them back in silence, and as they got closer, it soon became evident that something was happening on the deck of the ship. 

Men were clustered around the railing on the port side, laughing and jeering. 

“Huh, that’s weird. If we lost the Dragon-Eye, why does it sound like there’s a party going on?”

Heather said nothing, eyes narrowed. She stared hard at the crowd of men, craning her neck to try and see through the gaps between them. It wouldn’t do her any good; they were still too far away.

There was a flare of firelight and then suddenly a pained scream that made Heather jolt, looking panicked. Dagur winced. “Welp, sounds like the physician is making his rounds. This was a harsh battle, wasn’t it? I mean - Hiccup isn’t even here and we still lost. Since when does he leave traps? He’s usually not that good at guarding things.”

Heather frowned. “Hiccup isn’t the only dragon rider you need to worry about. Astrid is a force to be reckoned with on her own, and so are the Twins. It doesn’t surprise me that Tuff would have laid all these traps to try and rescue his sister. They fight constantly and it seems like you shouldn’t take them seriously, but when Ruff is in danger, he can be ruthless.”

“Oh, I’ve been on the wrong end of that Zippleback. Trust me sis - I take those two nutjobs _very_ seriously . Didn’t know he was a genius at traps though .”

Heather sighed and rolled her eyes but gave him a small wry smile. Dagur had a thing about  traps . His idea of a birthday surprise party would almost definitely include crossbows. Why not celebrate your day of life by dodging death? It got the blood pumping at least.

There was a second longer pained scream to join the first and the smile dropped from Heather’s face as she again tried to see what was happening. Whoever was suffering, the men found it wholly amusing - their laughter echoing across the water.

“Don’t worry so much, sis. It’s probably Sven being a giant baby and getting a splinter removed.” 

Heather looked like she was about to say something but instead nodded, looking forcibly unconcerned. 

It wasn’t until they had climbed the rope ladder to the deck that the cause for such inappropriate festivities became visible.

Two of the men were hauling up a rope from the water. 

There was a limp human form tied to the end of it, arms cruelly bound behind him with cord. He was coughing up water still as they dragged him over the railing, dumping him into a soggy heap to the boards.

Dagur stared, taking in the familiar long face and gold hair. It was one of those twins. He heard his sister suck in an involuntary horrified breath, but didn’t register it. 

“Wait - they _captured_ the nutjob?” he blurted, surprised. He walked closer to see while Heather hung back, seemingly frozen.

Dagur looked the prisoner over, wincing at what he saw. This was different than all the other times they’d taken riders hostage. Ryker’s men seemed to be going just a bit overboard. 

For one, they had stripped the boy to his small clothes, leaving him shivering andpale. There was a charred wound on his shoulder, standing out blackish red over a strip of burnt skin. Another burnt wound slashed across his upper back, which would explain all the screaming they’d heard.

The rider was clearly in bad shape - injured from battle, retching up water to get his airway clear. Instead of begging mercy, the boy managed to raise himself to his knees, taking frantic rasping gulps of air between harsh coughing fits and glowering at his captives with an almost feral look.

“Come on,” he slurred, trying to get to his feet. “Untie me you cowards - I can still take you!”

Dagur couldn’t help feeling a spark of admiration, even as the men surrounding him laughed uproariously. One of them, Erik, kicked the rider in the back, making him howl and curl forward in pain. He stepped on the boy’s neck, pushing him face down and pinning him so his hips were trapped in the air. Tuff tried frantically squirm free, but with his arms bound behind him, it was useless.

“Well, boys, I’d say he’s been cleaned up and treated enough. What do all you think about making him pay his tab? I’m thinking we use both ends.”

Dagur looked up sharply. _What ?!_

There was instant cacophony - some eager to go along and others loudly complaining they should have used the girl while they’d had her.

Tuff froze in terror, going still.

“Take a hammer to the boy’s teeth first, he bites - remember?” one of them warned, to yet more raucous laughter.

Dagur’s hand went immediately to his axe handle. He was no bleeding heart, but talk about degrading this dragon rider - or anyone - to such a purpose made his skin crawl. The boy had bested them all and true, Dagur didn’t like what that did to his ego, but tearing him down in this way was a pathetic and shameful solution to the problem.

A glance back at Heather reminded Dagur that if it was too much for him, it was definitely too much for his baby sister. She seemed frozen in place, face white with horror.

Yeah, okay, it was up to him to stop this.

“Fuck off, absolutely not,” Dagur snapped, storming over.

He made it a point to create physical space between the rider and Erik, who’d grabbed the waistband of Tuff’s small clothes, attempting to strip him right there on the deck. Animal.

Dagur shoved the hunter away with a palm to the face and a disgusted glower. Tuff took a shakily grateful breath, looking up at the Berserker as he tried to move himself into a less humiliating position.

Dagur didn’t look back at him, but instead bared his teeth at the hunters, furious this sort of thing had been considered an option.

“What the fuck is wrong with you festering shitheels?! You aren’t at a fucking brothel - you’re at work. You had one fucking job - to retrieve the Dragon Eye from two _scrawny little Berkians_ \- and you failed. I didn’t know a bunch of sniveling weaklings crawling empty-handed back to their ship deserved anything short of a _flogging_ ,” he sneered. “But here you are instead with your hands down your pants.”

The men grumbled among themselves, some looking appropriately chagrined. Not nearly enough of them, in Dagur’s opinion, though at least he’d made them turn their attention away from Tuff onto him.

“Lighten up, we’re only having a bit of fun,” Lars actually had the nerve to say.

“Fun?!” Dagur snapped, getting immediately in his face.

“Well. Y-Yeah. Ryker said to wash him off and treat his wounds,” he stammered, fidgeting under the Berserker’s intense glower. “Can’t do that without taking all his clothes off, right?”

“Aye, and we were all set to wash him properly, but the little monster bit nine different colors of shit out of Sven while we was stripping him,” another hunter called out, sounding amused. “Kicked him in the fruit and veg for good measure.”

A few others elbowed each other, snickering. As if this was all just a game that Dagur was overreacting to.

Amidst the laughter, Dagur turned his head to regard the hunter named Sven, who was hunched over and looking rather ill, each of his hands wrapped up into a useless ball of bandages. And just how handsy had Sven been getting, Dagur had to wonder.

The Berserker thundered forward and collared the man, heaving him over his head and hurling him overboard, into the bay. Sven screamed all the way down until he hit the water with a wet smack.

He turned, glowering at the rest of them - who had very wisely stopped laughing.

“Party‘s over and I’m not impressed. Where are the prisoner’s clothes?” Dagur inquired flatly.

“Oh relax. You Berserkers and your stupid honor code,” scoffed Erik. He spat to the side. “This dragon rider whelp’s getting treated exactly according to his station. He’s no chieftain’s son - just one of those swine-rearing lowborn Thorston churls. They’re the poorest clan on Berk - not like they’ll come for vengeance if we ruin him. So we figured a dip in the brine would be a good enough bath for the likes of him.”

“And then, you know,” Lars added, smirking. “We’d have to warm him up again afterwards, wouldn’t we?” He leered at Tuff.

Dagur risked a glance at the boy, who’d been sitting quietly. He was looking around at the men, pale and horrified as what they wanted to do to him sunk in.

Lars blew the boy a kiss with his lips and beckoned to him like he was a scared puppy. “C’mere, little princess.” Tuffnut glowered at him but shivered, eyes scanning hopelessly for escape.

Again, cruel laughter bubbled up and was cut off by Heather viciously elbowing her way through them. “Viggo’s orders are to keep any captured dragon riders alive. Not to further injure them, or use them for your own personal entertainment,” she snarled. “Where is this ship’s physician?”

“Still tending to all the ones this brat injured!” Erik spat, gesturing wildly at Tuff. Dagur saw the boy flinch and curl down even further, fixing his gaze on the man warily.

Ah. So Erik was the ringleader of tonight’s events, clearly. Itching to unload his frustrations and shortcomings onto the prisoner, so why not rile up the others to justify it? Dagur and Heather both gave him a disgusted look.

“Oh come off it! Don’t feel sorry for the little shit - he’s blown and burned half of us to Helheim, and all to protect an empty useless base! You can go down below if you don’t want to watch, but if we have to let him live, we’ve no reason not to make him wish for death!”

Erik turned his sneer onto Tuff and stepped threateningly toward him. The rider hitched and tried to scramble away, but he was barely able to use his legs and gained no purchase on the wet deck. Shaking, he gave Dagur an imploring look before he curled down flat against the deck, gray eyes closed in fear and resigned misery.

Dagur could see the hot terrorized pants of Tuff’s breath forming little clouds of mist and something in his blood, in his entire being, roared with outrage.

Erik reached to seize a handful of Tuff’s hair, but nearly lost his fingers to one of the Berserker’s throwing knives.It only just missed, violently embedding itself between two of Tuff’s braids into the deck. The hunter reeled backwards and fell on his backside, blinking up in fearful astonishment at Dagur, who had once again moved to stand protectively in front of Tuffnut.

“So, honor aside, since you appear to have no concept of that, you need a reason to do as you’re told and leave the rider be? Well, okay then, I’ll give you one.” Dagur drew another knife from his belt, twirling it expertly. “If you - or anybody else - try to put hands on this boy ever again, I will carve off both of your testicles and make you _swallow_ them.” The Berserker smiled sharply. “Is that a good enough reason?”

Erik and quite a few other hunters blanched and backed a step away, nodding quickly that they understood. Satisfied, Dagur put his blades away.

“Anyhoo, since we need to keep him alive - and since you lot can’t be trusted with even the basics of wound care - Heather and I will further treat the prisoner’s injuries and guard him ourselves.”

Dagur knelt to undo Tuff’s bound arms, but the knots were too tight, water having swollen the fibers. Tuffnut looked up at him through his hair, shakily. Dagur could feel that his skin was alarmingly cold.

A shadow cast over them both as heavy footsteps approached. Tuffnut looked away non-confrontationally but Dagur sighed, more irritated than anything else by the slightly larger-built hunter looming over him.

“Now just who do you think you are, Berserker? We’re Ryker’s men, not yours! He gave that rider to us! You think you can just waltz over and claim all the fun for yourself -“ The man‘s tirade cut off abruptly, by courtesy of a flipped-open double sided axe in his face.

Heather held its sharp tip unwaveringly, just an inch from Olgan’s eyeball. Her furious expression spelled out exactly how he was going to die (horribly) if he dared take a step further towards either the rider or her brother.

The look was fearsome enough that it prompted the hunter to gulp, turn on his heel, and launch himself over the side of the ship into the water.

Dagur could not have been more proud in that moment- his baby sister, learning the infamous Berserker Glare. Heather’s cleared throat and meaningful glance at Tuffnut made Dagur realize that now was decidedly not the time for Berserker family pride.

He sighed and scooped the rider up in a fireman’s carry, trying to be mindful of his cauterized burns. Tuff whined softly and Dagur winced as he remembered his armor would only make the rider colder. They had to get his temperature up quickly if he was going to recover. Really - dunking someone in ice water after shocking their system with a hot iron? Fucking idiots.

Men scrambled out of Heather’s way as she stormed down the steps leading into the hold of the ship toward their cabins, with her brother and their prisoner in tow.

Dagur managed to keep up with her longer furious strides, already starting to feel the annoying burn of having shorter legs. (Side note: It wasn’t fair she’d gotten all the tall genes.)

At length, Heather seized the handle to the door of his room, opening it for them.

The cabin was sparse - holding only a narrow bed, a couple of benches, and a rough oaken table as furniture. It was dimly lit but very clean, as though someone was obsessively cleaning it every other day, when they should instead be sleeping.

Dagur walked in and set Tuff down on the bed, checking him over. The boy laid quietly across the bed furs, exhausted and pale with bluish lips. The only sign of life was the faint rasp of his breathing. Oh gods, his stupid cold armor had probably made everything worse.

“The rider’s unconscious now, sister. I don’t know if he’ll make it.“

Heather leaned over to check his forehead. “He’s far too cold. I’ll get some salve for his burns and wounds. Dagur . . .”

There was a pregnant pause. Heather glanced at him and then at Tuff on the bed, and back to Dagur. It took him a second to understand her silent command.

“What?!” he squawked, face coloring. “Why me?!”

“Surely you don’t expect me to do it!” Heather snapped. “Or any of those ‘gentlemen’ up there.”

“Alright! Fine, I get it, yeah,” Dagur grumbled, face red. He drew his knife and started to cut through Tuffnut’s bindings. “Just make sure you make him some comfrey and dandelion root tea if we have it. If he gets a fever or infection from all this, he’s definitely a goner.”

He looked up at the click of his door shutting. Heather had already left. Well, fine then. She probably knew what she was doing better than he did.


	3. Chapter 3

Dagur glanced down at the twin and swore. 

He hadn’t lain next to anyone for a very long time, robed or disrobed, and he was pissed he had to do it now and not even for fun reasons.

He started taking off his armor and clothes, watching the rider for any sign of consciousness. The young man lay still, just breathing softly. Tuff’s eyelids hadn’t so much as fluttered since he’d been set down on the furs.

The twin’s long hair was soaked - which was decidedly not going to help him warm up. Dagur wrung his hair out out with a clean towel, tossing the cloth in a basket once it was too wet to use. He took off the rest of the rider’s underclothes, murmuring awkward apologies under his breath and then carefully eased him under the furs and blankets of his bed, drawing them up to his chest.

Dagur took a breath and finished stripping the rest of the way, wincing at the scrape of fabric over his cuts and burns.

For his own part, Dagur wasn’t pleased about the injuries he’d gotten from all those booby traps - but he was grudgingly impressed at how they’d gotten there, and privately mortified at the conduct of the other hunters. It was true the rider was an enemy - a trusted companion of his annoying, smug, no-good, abandoning jackass of a brother - but he had still fought valiantly under overwhelming odds. He should never have been treated this way. 

Dagur was getting under the covers when Tuffnut moaned faintly and opened his eyelids. Dagur brightened, the guy coming back to full consciousness was a good sign. “Hey, dragon rider. Back among the living?”

“. . . I don’t know,” Tuff muttered plaintively. He immediately closed his eyes again, gritting his teeth. “But could I maybe not be for a just bit longer?”

“Yep, I’d say you’re having a bad night.” Dagur remarked dryly. “You’re pretty tough - I think you’ll make it.”

“I‘m what ... ?“ The rider turned his head to blink at him owlishly. “Dagur? Why are you in my bed?” 

“... this is _my_ bed, dragon rider. You’re in my room.”

“Oh.” Tuff lapsed into silence, slowly taking in his whereabouts. Having never been below deck in Dagur’s room, he would not know where he was, which would be disconcerting to say the least. 

“Don’t worry,” Dagur assured him. “Nobody’s going to hurt you or anything like that. Not while you’re down here with me, okay?”

Tuff stared at him, looking a little bit lost. “Where are my clothes?”

Dagur abruptly realized how this probably seemed - to go from being threatened with vile things from a group of vile men, to suddenly being naked in the bed of a deranged Berserker prince. Who was also practically naked.

Tuff looked wary and while that was perfectly understandable, the young man’s lips were blue and he needed warmth if he was going to live. Dagur took a deep breath to calm his own anxiety. This was such a damned awkward mess. He didn’t even know the guy’s name. He decided to take a wild guess, usually he wasn’t too far off.

“Boynut, I’m not sure what you remember, but you just got dunked in ice cold water after getting your wounds cauterized. So you’re going to need warmed up.”

Dagur moved closer to him. Tuff automatically shifted an equal distance away, then sputtered in surprise when Dagur pulled him back by the waist, careful to avoid his injuries. Honestly, Dagur understood why Tuff was afraid, but his grip was firm and he didn’t let go even as Tuff planted a palm against his chest and pushed back weakly against his hold, locking his trembling elbow to force space between them.

“I - um - I don’t kn- I’m -“ Tuff squeaked, faintly. His voice cracked, brittle and panicking, gray eyes wide and again imploring. Dagur stopped his efforts but he didn’t let him retreat. 

“I get it, you’re overwhelmed,” he sighed and captured Tuff’s freezing hands with his warm ones - rubbing his fingers to try get the blood moving. “Those men should not have threatened or treated you the way they did. I’m disgusted at them for it and I absolutely meant it when I said I will castrate them where they stand if they ever try that bullshit with you again. Pretty sure Heather would do the same, since you used to be one of her friends and she’s never specifically complained about you. So that’s two people in your corner, am I right?”

Tuff was watching Dagur’s hands but at his words he actually looked up at him. His eyes were two different colors, Dagur noticed - a faint gold at the top of the iris and deep cool silver near the bottom. Dagur felt the rider’s body relaxing in his arms, taking slower breaths and ... was he curling closer? 

Right, he was supposed to be warming him up. Dagur wrapped an arm around Tuff’s waist again, pulling the rider’s half-frozen body to lay snugly against his side. He drew in a sharp breath and Dagur tensed, anticipating a struggle or a punch or at least a panicky swat aimed at his head. 

What he had not expected - in the least - was to become hostage to an octopus. 

Barely a second after he’d pulled the rider close, Tuff let out a ragged gasp and pressed against him as though he couldn’t help himself. “Oh, you are made of fire,“ he sighed appreciatively.

Dagur’s thoughts screeched to a halt as Tuff wrapped his good arm around his ribs, while both his legs tangled with the Berserker’s. Tuff pressed against him as much as he possibly could, burying his frozen nose against Dagur’s shoulder. 

The guy was ... _snuggling_ with him ... what? Nobody had ever ... _what_?! Dagur felt like his brain was melting but he came back soon enough to hear the tail end of the rider’s babbling.

“Are you supposed to be this hot? Do you have a fever? Is it a Berserker thing, all that rage inside you making you steaming hot, like a bottled up volcano? Seriously, I’ve touched cooler lava.”

Well, okay. Boynut was certainly a weird one. Weird, insane, inventively destructive and .... cuddly. 

It was odd, but compared to the alternative? Dagur had fully expected a struggle from anyone at the thought of having to lay so close to him - to an enemy - even if it was only just for survival. Hiccup would have definitely kicked him and run screaming out of the cabin by now (especially considering what had almost happened on deck).

Tuff, by contrast, could not seem to get enough of the offered body heat, smashed up as close to the Berserker as he physically could be. With a bemused shake of the head, Dagur pulled the covers and furs around them in a nest and wrapped his arms around the rider, still careful of his back and shoulder. 

As awkward as this was, holding a warm and willing body filled up some hole in Dagur’s chest that he didn’t know had been there. His eyes softened as he watched Tuff start to shiver in his arms - another good sign. Less ideal was the fact the burnt flesh of his shoulder had cracked to bleed anew.

“We’re gonna have to take care of these properly,” Dagur murmured. “The one in your shoulder looks pretty deep. Who did that?”

“The big ugly guy with two swords and no hair. Mr. Baldy McBreadknives,” Tuff muttered dismissively and Dagur sniggered. He was going to remember that one. 

“You mean Ryker?” He managed, grinning.

“Yep. Didn’t I say that?” Tuff answered, smirking faintly. He whined a little in protest as Dagur adjusted his position to get a better look at his shoulder wound, though mostly in frustration at the heat source moving away.

By now the edges around the cauterized wound were white from cold exposure, and still ragged - apparently from the serrated edge pulling out. Ouch. The wound was clean of fibers at least - he had to give the hunters that. “We’ll have to keep that clean so it doesn’t get infected,” he muttered. 

Tuff didn’t seem altogether concerned about his injuries, looking up at Dagur. “Is my sister okay? Is she warm? Fed?” Tuff asked through chattering teeth. “The Hunters didn’t try to get _weird_ with her did they?”

Dagur had the craziest urge to wipe a smudge of dried blood off Tuff’s lip and barely stopped himself. “No, they didn’t. She’s not here. She escaped earlier - stole my sister’s dragon right from under her. It was kind of impressive.”

 _Almost like your Zippleback trap_ , he was going to say but Tuff gasped and his eyes widened. 

“What?! She’s not here-“

Panicking, he bolted upright - far too quickly for Dagur to warn him that moving upright suddenly wasn’t a good idea. 

Tuff yowled and laid back down in an equal hurry, clutching his arm below the shoulder. The pain didn’t seem to abate any, leaving the rider to pant and sob, curling on his side as agony raced through the muscles of his shoulder, back, and arm. 

Dagur cursed himself out quietly for messing everything up. He managed to carefully pull Tuff against his chest, bundling the furs around him to trap him there. 

“Take it easy, would you? You shouldn’t be moving around so much with your injuries - at all, really. But yeah, your sister’s fine. She escaped, and ... well, now we have you as prisoner.”

“But Ryker said she was here, on the boat!” Tuff argued plaintively, trying to look over his shoulder at Dagur.

Belatedly Dagur realized that Ryker may have been planning to use the threat of Ruff’s wellbeing to get Tuff to cooperate. Efficient, true, but still a jackass move.

“Is - was she okay? Was she injured? Th-They didn’t stab her or try to drown her or -?”

Tuff was full out shaking, still technically a good sign, but his heart pounding from fear and stress was not ideal. Dagur didn’t know what he had gotten himself into, but he again felt compelled to answer the question honestly. 

It was sort of a code between brothers, right? He’d certainly like to know if Heather was alright if she was captured. Dagur sighed.

“Nobody touched a hair on your sister’s head, I promise. She escaped safe and sound, in way better condition than you are. My guess is she went to go find Hiccup to get you guys some backup.”

The rider nodded after a few moments, but still couldn’t seem to fully calm down, taking quick ragged breaths. Dagur could feel the wild pulse under his fingers and Tuff’s pretty eyes were unfocused, full of tears.

He was clearly terrified - more for her sake than his own. Logically he should only be worried about what was going to happen to him, but that wasn’t how siblings worked. Dagur knew that much by now. 

“Hey, it will all be okay. Your sister’s safe. You’re relatively safe - because we have to keep you alive for information. Hiccup’s probably gonna charge in before noon tomorrow, wreck a bunch of stuff and get you out of here as soon as he catches up, right? As infuriating as it is to admit, you guys have gotten better at that whole ‘blowing up our ships’ thing.”

Tuff reached up to swipe at his eyes, belatedly ducking his head to try and hide the fact he needed to. “Yeah. I shouldn’t be sca- worried. They’re probably on their way to this ship right now.”

His voice was trembling and he didn’t sound like he believed it but Dagur didn’t mention that. The rider had been through a lot tonight. Had he and Heather been any further delayed getting back to the ship, he might have gone through even worse.

Tuff pressed close to him again, seemingly more to hide his face than anything. Dagur allowed it; the rider still needed to be warmed up further, and this was preferable than having to wrestle him into it.

The Berserker worried his lip, trying to think of something soothing or at least distracting to say. “So ... what would you normally be doing this time of night anyway? You and all your little dragon rider friends?”

Tuff swallowed and lifted his head. “On clear nights like this? We ... have bonfires sometimes. We admire the stars and moon, tell ghost stories, sing songs, eat charred food on sticks, flick gobs of burning Monstrous Nightmare gel at Snotlout’s pants. Well, until Hiccup said we couldn’t anymore.”

“Snotlout ... is he the stocky one on the Nightmare?”

“Yeah. Fishlegs is the nerdy one, Ruffnut’s the vicious one and I’m the pretty one.”

Dagur grinned, amused. “Huh. The pretty one who blankets an island in death traps when his sister is taken hostage?”

Tuff looked up at him and blinked, completely thrown. “I ... I wouldn’t call them death traps. You can technically crawl away alive from most of them.”

For some reason that made Dagur laugh. It was different from his nervous laughter which he had since learned to mask with a touch of crazy. People usually stayed well out of your way if you had a massive armada and you seemed deranged. 

This time his laughter was warm, delighted by the rider’s clear-eyed brutal honesty and the thought of bonfires under the stars with friends and burnt food impaled on sticks. He had never experienced that.

“What about you? What are you usually doing this time of night?” Tuff asked.

“Cleaning,” Dagur answered without thinking, his guard down. He flushed, face burning a little. He could have lied and said ‘knife-throwing practice’ but that was firmly an early morning activity. “The ship is crawling with vermin. Seriously, the prison on Outcast island had less. I don’t want them in my room.”

There was a strange flash of guilt in Tuff’s eyes but he nodded like he understood. 

“I guess there’s not much to do stuck on a boat at sea. One of our aunts is a pirate and she writes that she’s bored to tears between looting ships.”

Dagur stared and then chuckled. “You have a pirate aunt and you’re close friends with the heir of Berk? Seems kind of risky. She’s right though, not a lot to do stuck on a boat. Long cold silent nights without music, everyone bickering and snapping, terrible weevil-infested food. It gets old fast. Sometimes you don’t even get to see the stars.”

Tuff made a soft noise, settling against him.

“Hey, Dagur ... have you ever thought about jumping ship and maybe hanging out with us riders for a bit?” Tuff asked after a short while had passed.

The unexpected question rudely catapulted Dagur headfirst into reality. 

“What?! No! That would make me a traitor. I hate traitors.”

“I said hang out with, you don’t have to pick sides to hang out. Also, Heather’s done it already,” Tuff pointed out. “And you don’t hate her. It’s no fair if she gets to do something fun but not you.”

Dagur decided to ignore the second part of the statement, mostly because he didn’t know what to do with it. “She’s my sister, of course I don’t hate her. It doesn’t matter who‘s side she was on in the past, because now she’s on the right side - fighting alongside me and Viggo’s men.”

“The right side? What’s _that_ got to do with anything? I just thought it would be cool if we could pause the fighting and you just come over and chill. Consider it an official Thorston invitation. I think you’d be an awesome addition to our group. You could maybe teach us how to throw knives, or how to do a Berserker chokehold. My sister and I could teach you how to blow things up and boar wrestle and carve faces in mountains with explosive gas - “

“Oh, I see. You’re delirious,” Dagur scoffed. It was such a ridiculous notion - _him_ being with the dragon riders. Although, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of warmth that Tuff had actually invited him. Nobody had ever invited him to be part of something before. He usually either bargained or threatened his way into things. “That would never happen. I’d never fit in. I’m not a dragon-loving goodie two-shoes like Hiccup, and the rest of you lot.”

Tuffnut made a face. “Is that really our image? Uh, no way. We are _definitely_ not the good guys. Everywhere we go we cause incidents. I mean in the past year alone we have stolen and destroyed private property, looted ships that didn’t belong to us, wrecked several dragon-hunting based economies, destroyed at least one natural landmark in order to starve out a _native_ natural apex predator, introduced invasive species of Fireworms and Gronckles to uncharted areas, committed uncountable acts of arson, boat scuttling and indirect manslaughter ...” Tuff trailed off, realizing that Dagur was staring at him. 

“Well anyway we _aren’t_ the good guys. If Hiccup thinks we are I’m going to yell at him. Because first of all, _that’s_ misleading advertising, and secondly we certainly _do_ _not_ spend all our time doing things that actual good guys would do - like picking up litter, or getting little old ladies out of trees, or helping chickens cross the roads safely.”

Dagur blinked. “You ... have those last two mixed up, I think?”

“Do I? You have no idea of the extent that certain little old ladies will go to add to their growing hoard of pet Terrors. I keep telling Gothi that they’re scavengers and will eat her as soon as she dies, and she keeps hitting me with her stick.”

Dagur couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up, turning into full throated cackling. Damn it all - he was starting to actually like this rider. Tuff was not at all like the others, who would have taken the opportunity by now to rub it in his face how evil and bad he was. 

Tuff was about to say something else but the cabin door opened, letting Heather inside with a tin of salve, a roll of bandages, and a pot of herbal tea.

Heather set down her things and looked at them, pausing as she took in Tuff’s apparent consciousness. 

She glanced from him to Dagur, looking uneasy - until Tuff broke the silence. “I swear - this isn’t what it looks like. Your brother is _just_ warming me up.”

Heather rolled her eyes and Dagur wheezed, turning his face and coughing to cover it up. 

“Here, put that on,” she grumbled, lobbing a clean tunic at her brother’s face. Dagur, thoroughly amused, pulled it over his head. 

“Sit up if you can, dragon rider.” 

Tuff made an attempt and Dagur helped him sit up slowly so he didn’t hurt himself again.

Heather looked at his shoulder closely, bringing a candle closer. “They at least cauterized it correctly. It’ll hurt for a while but it will heal. I’m going to have to apply this thoroughly, so hold still.”

She spread a lump of salve over the blistered area, pushing it into the cracks of the burned knot and Tuff drew his breath in sharply reaching over to grab something which ended up being Dagur’s wrist. Heather tensed but Dagur barely even noticed it, busy watching Tuff’s face as he winced through the treatment.

Tuff rolled onto his stomach when Heather prompted him to, so she could get to the burned slash across his shoulder blades. Dagur moved his long hair, gathering in a loose ponytail and holding it aside for her. He kept the blanket around the rider’s hips to shield him and then put his arm down within Tuff’s reach, an unspoken offer. 

Fingers brushed across Dagur’s wrist and when Dagur didn’t pull away, Tuff resumed his grip, quietly bearing Heather’s procedure over a much bigger area of cut and burnt skin. He held still but the hand that held onto Dagur’s wrist trembled. 

Dagur felt an odd surge of protectiveness and had to look elsewhere for a moment, oddly worried of looking too concerned. Ironically, Heather was just as carefully not looking at her brother for the same reasons, focused intently on her work. She capped the tin and with Dagur’s help, they bandaged him as best as she could and helped him sit up. Heather poured the tea and pressed the mug into Tuff’s good hand. “Drink all of this, then more if you can. I’ll leave the pot. It will help warm you up.”

Tuff nodded. “Thank you,” he offered. “Sorry my sister stole your dragon.”

Heather looked at Dagur in startled surprise but then nodded. “It’s fine,” she said brusquely. “Windshear will be back later tonight, probably.”

Tuff looked vaguely hurt at the dismissive tone but soldiered on. “Thank you for not letting anything happen to Ruffnut,” he murmured. She nodded to him awkwardly then glanced at Dagur. 

Her brother shrugged defensively, mistaking her paranoid look for a scolding one. “Yes, I told him she wasn’t here. Don’t get mad.”

“I would have figured it out eventually anyway,” Tuff said, saving Heather from having to say anything. “I’m just grateful she’s not stuck in a cell.”

“Speaking of cells,” Dagur said, hesitantly. “I was figuring the rider should stay here for the night instead of in the freezing rat-infested cell blocks below deck. Since we need to keep him alive and all.”

Heather stared at him in shock for a moment then looked relieved, tension leaving her shoulders. “Right. I was thinking the same thing. Those cells are filthy and not very secure. He could easily escape them.” 

She stood and loomed over Tuff. “ _You_ are going to stay here in _this_ room,” she ordered sternly. “Dagur or myself will bring you food and take care of your needs, and we’ll make sure your wounds heal. If you try to escape, or go exploring, we can’t promise your safety. Your best hope is that Ryker and the rest of the crew forget you are on this ship. Understand?”

“Yeah, I understand,” Tuff muttered, looking forlorn and tired. 

Heather looked soft for a moment, like she wanted to put a hand on his forehead, but she nodded curtly and turned to gather up her supplies, leaving the pot of tea like she said she would.

“Goodnight, sis,” Dagur called at her retreating back. She called it back, letting the door shut behind her. Tuff stared at the tea and looked over at Dagur. 

“Is it okay if we lay down again? And maybe talk some more?”

He sounded like he would understand if Dagur said no. Which was exactly what he should have said, but Dagur nodded and laid down, holding the covers up for Tuff to crawl in next to him. 

Tuff downed the tea then set the mug aside before crawling in next to him. His skin was cool but not unpleasant. Dagur reasoned with himself that staying warm would only be good for the rider’s recovery. 

And maybe he liked that the rider didn’t consider him a complete monster.

“You don’t ...,” Dagur started to say then faltered and tried again. “You seem to be more reasonable and .... not a jerk?”

Wow. He was really not making any sense.

“I try not to be, but sometimes I am. It happens to everyone. I mean … people are usually trying their best, even when it doesn’t seem like they are.”

“Really? So ... you don’t care that I’m a bad guy, so long as you think I’m trying my best?”

“I don’t actually think there are good or bad people,” Tuff cut himself off with a yawn. “Just people who are prisoners of black and white concepts and the idea that you have to be one or the other. Everyone has the potential to be both. You might think you’re all bad, Dagur, but I think there’s a lot of good in you.”

Dagur blinked, feeling odd. “Good in me,” he murmured, trying to sound out the words. 

“Mmhmm,” Tuff mumbled, his body a warm weight against his own. He was signing off into an exhausted sleep, and Dagur honestly couldn’t blame him. The Berserker stifled a yawn of his own and laid his head down on his pillow.

Tuff’s words haunted him. As he slowly drifted off, lulled by the rider’s breathing, Dagur thought about a hundred what ifs, each one crueler than the last.

He couldn’t help but feel at least a little like a prisoner.

—-

  
  
  
  



End file.
